


arrangements

by Exemplery_Prime



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: BDSM, I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY FOR MYSELF, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, S&M, Spanking, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Whipping, because of course what more would you expect from me, look galvatron/rodimus is unexplored territory and g1 rodimus is Good, rodimus lends himself too well to my kinks what can I say!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 21:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17373446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exemplery_Prime/pseuds/Exemplery_Prime
Summary: ......... it's just.  robot bdsm guys.  again





	arrangements

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raisedbymoogles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/gifts).



> this is 100% inspired by raisedbymoogles' Galvatron/Rodimus stuff so like, check them out bc they're better than me

“On your knees.”

It’s a familiar command, and one that Rodimus obeys instantly.  As he falls, the responsibilities of Prime fall with him-- leaving him free of anything but the ability to listen and obey.

Galvatron lounges above him, a god on his throne deigning to play with Rodimus down below.  Deigning to give him this, gift him with the punishment, the pain/pleasure that he wants, that Galvatron knows he needs.  

Rodimus kneels between his lord’s spread thighs, his helm bent, hands spread to the sides.  He knows that if he asks, Galvatron will stop the proceedings-- if he utilizes the word. But he also knows that he won’t.  And he won’t want to.

“Have you come to supplicate?” Galvatron sneers, glancing down.  “Have you come to beg?”

“No,” Rodimus says, the word hard in his mouth.

“Mecha never come before me kneeling unless they want something,” Galvatron says, voice cruel and mocking.  A smirk colors his face as Rodimus shifts on his knees. “What is it that you want, Prime?”

Rodimus tightens the components of his mouth, feeling the strut-deep ache twist around his spark-- the ache that only went away when he allowed himself to relinquish what created it.  He lifts his eyes to Galvatron, who is eyeing him as if he were a refined cube of fuel, ready to partake in. 

“You know what I want,” he says simply.  

Galvatron circles his digits along his thighs, seemingly considering-- but Galvatron was not a mech of patience, not one to put off their session when he was offered so tempting a sight.  He curls a digit toward Rodimus impatiently, motioning him to climb atop his lap.

Rodimus does so, eagerly.

As he is bent over his lord’s knee, he is very conscious of the last shreds of his control being taken away-- Galvatron is stronger than him, and in this position he would be able to do whatever he wants to Rodimus.  

And he does, landing the first blow against Rodimus’ aft with little preamble and purring his engine as Rodimus yelps.

“Oh, you’re pretty like this,” he says appreciatively, rubbing his hand over the place he’d struck.  

Rodimus dares a flippant, “Excuse you, I’m pretty all the time,” before his aft is treated to a crescendoe of harder strikes, each on a different spot, sending mixed signals of pain/pleasure throughout his body.  

“Did I ask you?” Galvatron says, seemingly annoyed, but his fingers pluck into edges of plating and tweak wires, making Rodimus twitch and jerk with charge.  Galvatron spanks it out of him, his hand repeatedly abusing Rodimus’ aft and thighs, hard and fast and mean. 

Rodimus begins to cry out, his hands digging into Galvatron’s thighs, and gasps, dentae clenched, as his lord grabs hold of his spoiler and drags his face away from the surface of the couch.  

“Let me hear you,” Galvatron growls, and attacks Rodimus’ thighs with a vengeance.  Rodimus obliges him, sobbing out an incoherent litany. He begs  _ please,  _ but never  _ stop.   _ Galvatron’s engine roars underneath him, sending vibrations shuddering through Rodimus’ frame and his charge raging up again.

“Enough of that for now,” Galvatron says, and pushes Rodimus off.  “Kneel, Prime.” And, as Rodimus collapses to his knees, Galvatron pushes his head to the floor.  “All the way down.”

Rodimus trembles, his aft and thighs stinging, and watches Galvatron’s feet as his lord stands and walks around his body, there on the floor presented like an offering. 

“You’re my prize,” Galvatron rumbles.  “Mine to reward as I see fit. Have you earned a reward from me, Rodimus?”

The sound of his name from Galvatron’s vocoder twists something in Rodimus.  “Please, lord.”

“Then you shall have one.”

He grabs Rodimus by the shoulders, heaves him into the air, and thrusts him against the wall.  And then he’s claiming his mouth in a kiss, hard and fast and hot, biting possessively at Rodimus’ lips and licking the energon he gets.  Rodimus’ legs are still dangling off the floor, his arms wrapped around Galvatron’s neck, clinging to him like a lifeline. 

“Galvatron--!” he gasps.

Galvatron lifts him again, and with a snarl, throws him headlong into the couch Galvatron had been sitting at not a minute prior.  Rodimus’ body makes an awkward landing, but he doesn’t have time to recover and gather his wits-- Galvatron is already there, pinning his shoulders down, snarling into his face.

“You’re mine,” he hisses.  

_ Yes, yours,  _ Rodimus nearly says, nearly offers Galvatron everything.   _ Yours forever. _

But Galvatron doesn’t give him the chance, muffling his nearly-spoken words with a kiss, sating Rodimus’ need for pain with a bite within the gentleness.  

“Please, lord,” Rodimus manages, as he pulls away.  “You promised--”

He knows that Galvatron will give him what he wants, as he always does, as he always has.  

Galvatron presses their mouths together again, quickly, and drags Rodimus up and off the couch.  And then he’s throwing him to the ground once more, and Rodimus manages to get into the position he’d been in before.  Head to the floor, aft up like an offering. He clenches his fists and licks his lips, savoring the memory of Galvatron’s mouth on his, the fresh sting of broken plating.

And his lord is pacing again, footsteps restless like he always is, and it  _ would  _ be intimidating if Rodimus didn’t know Galvatron.  Heady. Easily revved up. Most importantly,  _ impatient.   _

And there it is-- the sharp smack of a hand against his upraised aft, and the trailing of said hand across his lower back, reaching and grabbing possessively at his spoiler.  Rodimus jerks and whimpers, both at the sensation against his already-abused aft and the overwhelming  _ focus  _ of having his spoiler gripped.  It was ridiculously hot, and he knew Galvatron knew it.

“Do you want a punishment?” Galvatron purrs.  His other hand travels down to grope Rodimus’ aft and spread thighs shamelessly.  

“Yes,” Rodimus sobs.

“Hm?” Galvatron grabs his spoiler harder, digging his claws into the metal.  

“Yes, lord,” Rodimus amends, gasping.  

Galvatron releases him.  

“You’re beautiful like this,” he hisses, walking over to the other side of the room-- retrieving an instrument, perhaps.  Rodimus’ spark thrills with anticipation. “I know what would make you more beautiful.”

Without warning, his hands are between Rodimus’ thighs again, feeling at his locked panels and the condensation gathered there.  He rubs his hands over Rodimus’ aft, laughing at the hisses and jerks he earns from Rodimus as he goes over tender spots. 

“What are you going to give me?” Rodimus asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Hm.”  Galvatron paused with one hand curled around Rodimus’ thigh.  “Tonight’s session is about pain, Prime. You’re going to get that, at least.  But you’ve taken everything I’ve given you so well-- well, I think you deserve a reward.”  He tapped at Rodimus’ panel with a clawed digit, making him jump. “I know I locked up your pretty array until this was over, but I changed my mind.  Open up.”

Rodimus releases the catches on his interface panel, baring his valve and allowing his spike to pressurize.  It bobs between his legs as Galvatron cackles and gropes at his exposed array, teasing him into shivers on the ground.

“I don’t care how many times you overload, Prime,” Galvatron says carelessly, and Rodimus feels the slight press of something round and long against the entrance of his already well-lubricated valve.  “Take this inside. Close your panel. And we can start with the punishment.”

Rodimus pushes his aft up against his lord, silently asking.  

Galvatron’s engine purrs, high and powerful, and he slides the toy, molded in the shape of a spike ( _ not nearly the size of Galvatron’s, _ Rodimus’ unhelpful processor points out) all the way into Rodimus’ valve, and-- and it begins vibrating as he slowly but surely bottoms it out--

Galvatron leans forward and lays a kiss on Rodimus’ valve, as gentle as he ever was, a promise of what was to come.

“Close your panel,” he whispers, and Rodimus does, sealing the vibrating toy inside.  He closes his eyes and tries to endure the rapidly building charge, but-- but Galvatron is pinching at the sore mesh of his thighs and slapping them again, and Rodimus jerks forward, groaning and losing himself to the wonderful pain/pleasure mix he’s so addicted to.  He’s already close, the toy was too much for his charge system--

“Beg,” Galvatron says sharply, standing.

“F-for what, lord?”

Galvatron walks to the other side of the room again, taking something else-- and Rodimus tenses on the ground as the toy inside him shifts and lays against his ceiling node--

“Beg me for your pain,” Galvatron says, and the long, electric strands of a whip dangle down in front of Rodimus’ bent helm.  Rodimus’ spark quickens.

“Please,” he says, quietly.  And then, whimpering shamelessly as the toy pushes him to the edge,  _ “Please!” _

Galvatron, perhaps knowing that that was the best he could do, strikes.

Rodimus overloads as the whip lands on his back, crying and gasping as the vibrations refuse to cease.  Galvatron stands in front of him, pedes before his face.

“Are you ready, Prime?” he asks.  

Rodimus, shivering in the wake of his climax, laughs softly and leans forward to kiss his lover’s pede.  “Always, Galvatron.”

Galvatron whips him, the lashes landing on his back, teasing at the curve of his aft.  The electro-whip does no damage that cannot be undone with a day of self-repair, but-- it doesn’t  _ feel  _ that way, it feels sharp and harsh and painful and-- perfect.

Rodimus writhes.

“Does it hurt,  _ Prime?”  _ Galvatron demands, lashing again at the small of Rodimus’ back.  

_ Yes,  _ Rodimus tries to say, but his sensornet is overwhelmed with sensation and he can hardly think, let alone speak.

The vibrations from the toy increase, nearly unbearable, and the heady rush of charge from being beaten that neither Rodimus nor Galvatron nor his doctors understand is tipping him toward the edge once more.  

“Galvatron,” he cries, voice breaking.

Galvatron lavishes him with dramatic strokes-- generous, as always, when he senses Rodimus is close.

“Overload again, Rodimus,” he snarls.  “I command it.”

Rodimus tenses and pushes his face to the ground to try and withstand, and the vibrator shifts within him and stimulates that much-abused ceiling node again, and he breaks down into a crashing, shamelessly loud climax, shaking and collapsing as his legs refused to support his body any longer.

Galvatron’s hands are on his spoiler again, not harsh or rough, but gently rubbing at the sensitive metal to draw out his overload.  

 

When Rodimus comes back to himself, he’s curled up on top of Galvatron on their berth, the mech’s hands fiddling with his spoiler.  As Rodimus lifts his head, Galvatron grumbles and pushes it back down, ordering, “Sleep, Prime.”

That’s one order Rodimus is happy to obey outside of their game.  He curls up tighter, appreciating the sleepy rumble of Galvatron’s engine, and the feeling of the mech warming up beneath his own.  

Everything else could be dealt with later.

  
  
  



End file.
